Abby Murmurs of the Heart
by TangoSVU
Summary: Abby's POV of the S13 epi with Ames threatening her, Joe and Luka. "It's not fair, I know, because if this was any other night, any other situation it wouldn't matter... but right now he's NOT HERE. And we need him." R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This is based off the _ER_ season 13 episode number 14. The character's _thoughts_ are mine, but they themselves are not (damn NBC), neither is this technically my storyline/actions.

**A/N: Still, I have a right to flesh this out however I want to, right? heh heh. I have been a fan of ER for quite awhile, with Abby being my favorite, but I've never had an idea for a good ER fanfic before this (as you all know, I'm more into the SVU fics, lol). Please let me know if I should continue, I'm trying to stay very true to the words/blocking from the episode, so I don't know if anybody would really want me to keep going or not (thought I probably will for my own entertainment, lol. I heart Abby so much!). xoxo**

**TangoSVU**

What a crazy day, I thought. But there was something strange about saying that, because I'd only left an hour ago, and yet I couldn't remember any one specific thing that had happened to make it that kind of day. Things in the ER have a tendency to blend together into a single giant mush and trying to untangle them just confuses me. It was the things outside of the ER that just made everything worse. Kerry leaving – after God, how many years?, my father – no, this man _trying_ to be my father – asking for things he had no right to ask, and Luka and I fighting over said man before I even knew he was my father… Too much.

I took the cab to pick up Joe and then grabbed the L. The business of it all never used to bother him but today nothing I did could settle him down. I even tried singing him his favorite song into his ear. Why couldn't he just fall asleep in the car and stuff, like a normal kid? The thought stops me in my tracks. As far as we know right now he has no genetic abnormalities, but the traits in my family that I'm no doubt carrying probably won't show themselves until he's in college. I thought I'd dealt with this fear, but it hits me at times I can't anticipate. He cried all the way home.

I'm scared the neighbors will fuss as I lug the carrier up the stairs and fumble for my keys. "Alright, one second and I'll get you out of here. One second, I'm sorry. Ssssh ssssh ssssh. Okay, okay." I croon, closing the door behind me and turning the bolt. "Okay, here we go. We're home." I set the car seat on top of the counter and begin shredding the diaper backpack. "Hey, hey, one sec okay? One sec. Here we go." The phone receiver beeps into my hand before I put it to my ear.

"Come on Luka, pick up." I plead, pulling my jacket off now. But it only rings, quickly going to voicemail. "Hey, it's me, um… uh, I'm home, I just got Joe from Ellen's. Listen," I'm rambling, one word rushing into the other. "Can you call me as soon as you get this? It's kind of uh, kind of urgent." Inhale. "Thanks."

Joe starts crying again as soon as I click the phone off and I turn to unbuckle him. "Oh, here we go." I pull of his cap, the adorable little striped one with the balls on the end that Maggie gave him. "I know, I'm sorry. Okay, I know, I know. Ssssh ssssh." He tosses his little hand right into the hair behind my ears as soon as I pick him up. It's something he's done since he got out of the NICU, as if us holding him isn't enough, as if he needs to be grabbing onto something solid too, just to make sure it's all still there. I wonder if he'll break the habit at the same time that I never want him to stop.

I rub his back and turn towards the window in the living room where the only lamp we never turn off is shining. "It's okay, it's okay. You're okay, you're okay."

I plant a kiss beneath his bangs, enjoying this tender moment, when suddenly the floors drops right out from underneath me. – _Gasp _– Instincts take over and my hand flings up to the back of Joe's precious head. I pull him so close to me it's a wonder he doesn't scream.

There's a man in my house. That man from the park. What did Luka say his name was? Something flickers in his hands. A gun. My brain goes back to the last time I saw one that close, and I can feel the grit of the floor, the chill of leather seats. But there is no blood on my hands this time; no one is dead, yet. Even so, the feeling is the same, the tightness in my chest, my throat. And even though this one isn't pointed directly at me, the stakes are higher now. It's not me I care about, but I'm holding my son here in my arms, my only child, and he's too young to escape without me.

"Call your husband," He says simply. There's something wrong with his eyes. Not the lazy eye, goodness knows I've seen plenty of those in my life, but that look. It's… it's… _empty_.

I blink in my shock. "I, I just did, he's not picking up." I jiggle Joe in my arms but he's crying once more.

"Call him again." He's unyielding, domineering and yet he hasn't even moved from the chair. My chair. Luka's chair. _Our_ chair. I can't breathe. My shoulder is wet from Joe's tears as I cling to him. If he keeps this up much longer he's going to make himself sick.

"Just try again." He tosses a picture frame onto the coffee table with his good arm. It's the one that I took of Luka when I found him putting together the crib before Joe was born. He was so frustrated that the diagrams didn't make sense I just had to laugh at him. I thought, here's a doctor who can keep just about anyone from dying in a trauma room and yet he can't find a stupid screw to connect two little pieces of wood. I told him that and instead of getting angry like most men would he laughed too, dropping the pieces to reach for me. That's when I snapped the picture, with his arms outstretched. But he's not here now. I don't know where he is. It's not fair, I know, because if this were any other night, any other situation it wouldn't matter. I'd put Joe to bed and meet Luka at the door with a kiss, talking long into the night. But right now he's _not here_.

"I have no idea where he is, I don't even know what he's doing right now. I just don't,"

But he cuts me off with a wave of his right hand and I feel my face scrunch up. I'm fighting the emotions with all I've got because there's already too many tears. "Try again." Licking my lips, I keep wiggling my son. Suddenly it hits me.

"Mr. Ames," I say, as forceful as I can manage. "Why don't you just… Go." I make sure it's a statement, not a suggestion. "Okay? Just please, go." But now I've ruined it. I can't make Joe stop crying and that on top of everything else is destroying my nerves. "I'm sure Luka will be happy to talk to you about whatever it is you want some other time, okay?" Joe is watching him. I don't want this man affecting my son, _ever_. Then I think back to the park. He's already talked to Joe, touched his frog, made him smile. It's too late. I've failed my son and I didn't even know it. If I can just get him out now… maybe I can make up for it.

Ames isn't convinced. "What I want?" He asks, incredulous.

I stutter, try to correct my mistakes. If I can just… "Whatever the reason it is that you, you're here just…" I close my eyes, my hand outstretched. _Get. Out._ "Just go! Okay? Please go and there won't be any trouble. I promise."

Now he's upset. No, no, no. He's standing up. He's approaching us, coming closer. "Trouble! Trouble?" It happens like that. Exclamation first, question second. "You don't know what trouble is!"

He's waving the gun. He's waving the gun toward my son. I cup my hand back around Joe's head as if that would be enough of a barrier, as if bones were actually a thick enough protection regardless of all my medical knowledge. "Oh, God." It's the only sound I can think to make in my stupor. And I say a sound because it passes between my lips soft as a breath only I know I'm not breathing. This can't be happening.

"Abby!" For all the times I've been so damn persnickety about people calling me Abby and not Abbigail – yes, my mother's brilliant spelling. I wonder if that's an unknown side-effect of the bipolar… – now I'm beginning to hate it. "Abby? You call Luka, now!"

And I don't know what else to do.

"Hey uh, sorry I couldn't pick up before, I'm at the police station." He's finally picked up. I've tried the number five more times and only now does he pick up. But I can't even hear him. His voice is the only thing I want to hear and yet it's all muddled.

"Luka!" I need him to focus. _I _need to focus.

He catches it – that tone in my voice just like he always has. "You okay?"

_No! No I'm not!_ _We're not! There's a man here pointing a gun at us, at your son! And you let him! You didn't stop him! NO I'M NOT OKAY!_ I want to scream it from the top of my lungs; I'm ready to burst into tears. But I can't. I can't. I roll my eyes instead. I need to stay calm. Somehow I need to stay calm. Ames has the other receiver. He's listening. He'll know and that'll just make things worse. "Can you come home now?" But I've said it wrong again. I sound angry. And I am! I am angry! But I'm not. That's not what I meant.

"Nah," he answers flippantly. "It's probably going to be a couple more hours. Pratt's been arrested."

Okay, now I _am_ mad. I don't give a damn about Pratt. I don't care about the fucking ER. I care about Joe. I care about us. I care about right fucking now. I can hear Ames breathe through the phone. Can't Luka? Why doesn't he _say _anything about it?!

"You need to come home. _Now_." It's biting, tart. It burns my tongue.

He pauses, as sensitive as ever, more observant to voice cues than any other man I've ever met. "What's wrong?" I don't even have to see him to know that he's lolled his head down and to the side, raised his eyebrow.

"Nothing. I just… " I can't believe this. I can't believe. I don't even know what to say. How does a person describe this kind of circumstance? "It's just, something happened and… and we need to," I search for the word, the right one that will convey everything to Luka and nothing to Ames. "discuss it."

But it couldn't have been the right word because his brain takes him down another path. "Is Joe okay?"

"He's fine. Just," I'm so frustrated. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. "Come home."

"Okay. Tell me what's the matter." He's caught on to the frustration. Sometimes I think it's more contagious than tuberculosis.

"I need to see you." Now there's desperation in my voice too. I can't hide it.

He hears it too. "Okay." There's no more fighting. "I'll," it's not a hesitation. Not really. He's confused. He's trying to go back through the day and catch what could have possibly made me this upset. "I'll be right there."

_Please hurry. We need you._ I beg, but he's already gone. He can't hear me anymore. So I lower the receiver, and – with closed eyes and a deep breath – turn around to meet my fate.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you," Ames says next, calm as can be

"Thank you," Ames says next, calm as can be. Thank you of all things. I feel like there's a 20lb weight attached to my lungs. "I appreciate that."

I can hear the phone clank onto the table. I haven't turned around yet but I know he's picked the gun back up. It rustles between the fingertips of his good hand. Shamelessly I hope he's left-handed, so that maybe he won't be able to aim with the other if he ends up shooting.

Now there's silence. An uneasy and very heavy silence. Even Joe does not make a sound. In fact he's falling asleep so I put him in the circular crib and face Ames' back as he stares out the window, peering through my blinds. I wonder if anyone can see him standing there, if anyone has any idea what's going on here in this apartment.

Finally he walks closer to me. "How's he doin'?"

On cue Joe whimpers. "Who?" I ask, thinking he's talking about Luka, or maybe someone he saw outside the window. But he looks to me, then the crib, and then me again.

"Joe." There is no hint of malice or ill-will in his voice at all. I don't know what to do. I can't figure him out.

We both watch my son for a moment, his eyes opened wide as if he is taking in the world. "He's fine." I say, trying to stay calm but I can't do it. I sigh loudly but it sounds more like a huff. "Please…" I can't make anything else come out no matter how many ways I shape my lips.

"My daughter was easy," he states, as if this somehow applies to anything we've been talking about. "But my boy, I tell ya he was always colicky. Didn't sleep through the night for the first three months." A pause. "How 'bout Joe?"

"Joe sleeps fine."

He says something I can't understand because my eyes keep moving from his gun to my son. The only thing I catch is, "They grow up fast." And then I've had it, take my hand from my face and toss my hair away from my head.

"Look, what do you want?" The tears are back in my eyes but I can't tell anymore if they're from anger or fear.

He looks shocked, like that was a dumb question. I feel like he's just placed a duce on top of my head. "I want to talk to Luka."

"Like this?" I practically shout at him.

He scoffs. "This happened to the both of us, him and me, so I see no reason why we should go through it alone."

"It's over!"

"That's what you think?" I blink. It's that silence again. "You're the successful doctor, right? You're smart, you're beautiful, you've got the man, you've got the baby, you've got everything." He pauses, seemingly thinking but I have no idea what's going through his head. "So don't take it personal when I say to you that you have no idea where I am right now."

I've got to get out of this. I've got to understand, got to make him understand so that this can all go away. I want to stop looking like I'm about to cry. "You're wrong." I purse my lips as I try to smile at him as some kind of proof.

But he doubts. "You think so?"

"Yeah." I swallow, prepare myself. I'm determined now. I will get through this. I will get through it better than I've gotten through anything in my entire life. I will get through this for Luka, I will get through this for Joe. So I dare to lock eyes with this man who is trying to destroy my family. "I think I know _exactly_ where you are right now. You know 9 years ago I," I look at the floor, try to figure out what I'm going to say, but if I think about it for too long I'm scared it won't work. So I shake my head at him, then shrug my shoulders. "My marriage was over, my mother was in a mental institution for the 7th or the 10th time, I don't know, and I, I drank, a lot. A _lot._" I watch his face for signs of connection, anything. "And I had reached this, I, you know what, ah," It's gone. I've lost it but somehow words I don't recognize, words I've never said keep spilling out of my mouth before I can rationalize why I am opening myself up to this man of all people. "One morning I woke up in this apartment and I had no idea how I got there. Next to some guy I didn't even remember meeting. And he was going through my stuff, lookin' for money so he and his buddy can get a fix. So I ran out of there and went downstairs and I tried to get a cab but I had no idea where I was and it was 5 o'clock in the morning and there were no cars on the street so I just, I just sat down on the stoop and I just, waited for something to happen.

"And at that moment, I'm telling you, I knew, I mean I was _positive,_ that happiness was something I was never going to find."

"You're getting deep on me now," he smarts.

"No," I answer quickly. "No. I just…" I purse my lips again, knowing the tears are back. "I am just trying to tell you that things can change, they can get better, even if you don't see it, they can."

He goes back to the window like he hasn't heard me and I just stand there helplessly, watching him. Then he sits down in our chair again but he doesn't look at me. I can just hear him breathing. When he does finally glance at me, his gaze is vacant again and his words are anti-climatic. "Do you have any bourbon?"

I pinch my eyes against the tears and pour him a glass.

He puts the half-empty glass down lazily on the second frame, the picture of Luka and me with baby Joe on the couch that my mother took when we brought him home from the hospital. We were all tired from the many sleepless nights in the NICU but there is a glow on our faces in the picture. A glow that is somehow not strong enough to reflect off his glass as it slides over it. I vow to break that glass and throw it out as soon as I possibly can so I can erase any evidence that he was ever here.

Suddenly a key jingles in the lock even though I can't remember locking the door when I came home. It feels like a lifetime ago. I take my hand off of my face and watch Ames turn toward the door. "Hey," Luka starts casually. Quickly I stand and place myself between Joe's crib and the stairs so that I am the first person Luka sees. "Sorry it took me so long, the traffic," But when Ames interrupts him the moment I'd hoped for disappears.

"Hey hey!" he lifts up the glass as if to make a toast to Luka. "I got fired!" I don't understand the excitement, but regardless it is not contagious. Luka is in instant panic-protection mode, the same way I saw him on the night of our first date when that pick-pocketer tried to steal my purse. He looks at me but I just shake my head wordlessly.

"What are you doing here?" Luka snaps, coming closer to me.

Ames goes to take another sip of the drink. "You said if I should ever need anything I should call."

He's reached me now, grabbed my hand that has been keeping my balance on the side of the crib, switches so that he is the one supporting me. "Okay. What do you need?"

"To talk, to be listened to."

Luka's voice literally bites off the end of Ames words. "Abby take the baby upstairs."

"No need for that now." Waving the gun, Ames steps forward but Luka does too, placing himself between this man and his family.

"Take the baby upstairs!" He's practically pushing me.

"They can stay right here because we're going for a little ride." He's smiling, like this was in his plan all along. Maybe it was.

Luka stops, thinking, but only for a moment. I don't know what it is but suddenly he's got something in his head. "Alright."

"NO!" Now I'm crying, placing myself as close to Luka's body as I can get. "Don't!"

"It's okay," He puts his hand out to assure me, but it isn't! It isn't okay! He can't do this; he can't leave me now that he just got here!

Ames motions with the gun. "My car's just around the corner,"

"No, come on, please," I'm begging and I hate it but I can't stop. The words are coming of their own volition from a well-spring of desperation. "Please don't do this, Luka don't go. You can't go. Luka!"

Now he _is_ pushing me, _hard_. His hands are like vices around my arms as he yanks me back toward the crib. I find his eyes but he won't give in. I can't move. I can't breathe. He just stares, professing his love silently, promising to come home but my heart is not strong enough to believe.

Ames looks at me. "Abby," And even though it's the last thing I want to do, I turn to him, breaking myself from Luka's gaze. "Thanks for the chat."

And then, with one last squeeze against my hand, he walks away from me, out the door with Ames. Luka's eyes never stray from mine the whole way, but yet he leaves me there alone.

As soon as it shuts I pick up the phone and rush to the window. The 911 operator speaks. "Um, uh, there was a man in my apartment, with a gun. He took my husband. His name is Curtis Ames." Only there's nothing out the window except darkness now; Luka is already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Thank you," Ames says next, calm as can be

The police take forever to get here. My mind is running wild with all the places Ames has had time to take Luka, all the things he has had time to do but I have no idea what's really happening. I left the door unlocked; there was no need to bother. What else could possibly happen, right? The officers find me holding a vigil by the window, Joe clutched inside my arms. They call my neighbor to have her watch him and she pulls him from my grasp. I think he's asleep by now but I'm pacing. They've brought in special detectives or something but nobody's doing anything. Emotions I cannot name are literally crawling beneath my skin, begging to be released.

"You have no idea how he got in?" The guy asks.

"No." I'm so irritated. I've been asked these questions a thousand times already! "Look, why aren't you looking for him? I told them, I saw his car."

"A '96 station wagon, light tan?"

"I think so, yeah,"

"We ran a check, he's got one registered. We're already on it."

"Okay so you know him. His history, Ames." The idiot shakes his head. What is this, his first day on the job? He doesn't look young enough to be so stupid.

"You know, I told the cops this! I, he, he had a stroke, he lost the use of his left arm, there was a lawsuit." I pound my hands together to help emphasis this information but I don't think it's going through.

He scribbles more on his little pathetic notepad. "Okay, I'll get somebody on that right away."

"Oh, okay." I give up. Turn to my son. She's walking him, patting his back but somehow he is still sleeping after my rant. "um… Louise, could you take him to your place for a little while?"

She nods. "Sure Abby, we'll be fine." And quickly exits before my "Thanks" leaves my lips. I think the situation made her very uncomfortable. Well it's sure as hell not a walk in the park for me either.

"Look," I grab his jacket from the dining room chair and push it into his hands, not caring if I knock away the notebook. "_You_ need to catch up. There's a medical record with all kinds of information of it. Numbers, addresses, there's probably even a psyche assessment." Finally I stop struggling with my jacket and snarl at him.

"Where?" he asks and I'm surprised I bother to answer him as I head out the door.

"Country General, I can get it." There. A purpose. Something to do. Something I _can_ do. I'll be okay now. I'll be okay as long as Luka is okay.

I don't think it has ever taken this long to get to the hospital. Even the automatic doors have never been this slow. Frank is at the desk babbling something to me about how I'm either a little late or very early but I need him to just shut up and listen to me! Why does everyone suddenly want to talk to me?

"Frank, Frank," I'm tapping my nails on the countertop. "I need you to call up to records, tell them to pull Curtis Ames' chart."

"Curtis Ames, Kovac's guy."

I roll my eyes. "Do it."

"You know, this late,"

"Frank just **DO IT!**" I've screamed at him, fists clenched and hair flying, the whole works. He looks at me in a kind of hurt confusion, with no idea what's going on. But he calls. He calls and I try to breathe. Purpose, purpose, I have a purpose. I need to be here for a reason. These files will help save Luka, I just know it. That's why I'm here. It's okay. It's okay.

But that purpose is over much too fast and I've poured over the files so much I can't see anything except blurs on the page so now I'm here again without anything to do. I'm just standing in the doctor's lounge watching them standing around and nothing is getting accomplished. I keep my arms crossed in front of me in hopes that they will keep my emotions from spilling out into the world.

Then something comes over the police radio and they start grabbing their jackets. An address, I know that address. It's Ames'! "Did they find them?"

"Not yet," he says, moving slow as molasses. "Just the car."

"Alright." I grab my jacket at lightning speed. "I'm coming with you guys."

"The best thing for you to do is stay here," his voice is flat yet still annoyed but I hear something else over the radio.

My eyes go wild. "Did she just say 'shots fired'?!" I'm a doctor. When shots get fired they always need doctors. Luka and I can help. Unless it's Luka… There is no way I'm staying here now. I gather the folder of papers, the only solid purpose I've had all night and follow after him.

"I know this can't be easy for you,"

"No." He's not telling me this. These are words he says all the time. He doesn't mean them. Not to me. He doesn't know what he's saying; talking about staying with the unit or whatever load of bullshit he's trying to hand me. "No, no, no!" I pulse around the couch, tugging the files into my chest. "Are you kidding me?! I'm not just going to wait here!"

Finally he turns to look at me, stop me from advancing. "I'm sorry. But you need to trust us now."

And there's that word again, trust. The word that's supposed to mean so much, carry so much weight and significance and yet always just leaves me lost and alone. I can't do it. I won't. I don't trust this detective, I don't trust the police, not at all. But I trust Luka. I'm going after him and no one can stop me.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thank you," Ames says next, calm as can be

I don't even wait for the officers to leave. I go out the back way. The folders give me an address. I get into my car and make my way there. I am by no means first to arrive. There are already at least half a dozen cars and tons of flashing lights. Everyone is standing around and talking into radios. Caution tape is already up as well, creating a boundary all around the house, even out into the street corners. I have to park a ways away. I pick the folders off the front seat and make my way over, forgetting to even shut my door in my desperate searching of the area for some sign of Luka. A chopper burrows through the sky above my head so that there's suddenly a buzzing in my ears.

People are standing outside the caution tape but it was not meant for me. Without thought I crawl under. "Hey, hey, hey, lady, lady! Get back!" A policeman is grabbing me.

_No! No! You don't understand! _"I've gotta talk to somebody, I've gotta talk to somebody!" I keep walking, trying to get past him. "I know him. I work at… hey! Hey!" I point my finger and wave to the people standing around the hood of a car. "I work at County! I know Curtis Ames!"

A man notices, motions me over. "Let her go."

_Thank God. _My arm is freed and as I go to the other officers I give the man a look that, had I been younger, would've easily been read as an "I told you so,"

"I brought his medical records." I pound the folders with my index finger to make my point. "It's the reason that he's doing this. There's a lot of information in them,"

"Who are you again?" He's not convinced. Take the papers! There's got to be something in there that I've missed, something that warned us he could do something like this, something that will help us end it all and get Luka back here to me because I _need_ him.

"That's my husband in there with him!"

"Your husband?"

"Yes! We both work at County and I thought that maybe your," He's distracted, not even looking at me but I continue. "negotiator could use them to," I'm still yelling but it's not meant to be a scream. There's just so much noise and I need him to hear me, I need this to work.

Only he's not paying attention. "Yeah, move in!" He's calling on the radio. Move in where? Someone tell me what's happening! He flips briefly through the pages but I know he's not reading anything. "No, look, thanks. I, I, I don't think this is going to help."

And that's it. My purpose is over. I turn to the building where I hear a crash as they break through the front door. What do I do now?! This immobilization, this helplessness is killing me. Luka! Luka! I want to scream his name but my throat hurts and I don't know why. Everyone crowds around a radio so I do too, but I can't comprehend the words.

"4645 clear… Somebody was here, signs of a struggle…"

The chill of the wind that's blowing my hair into my face has no affect on my skin. I try to wipe my tears and end up covering my mouth as I struggle to breathe in. I'm just numb all over.

"Yeah, this is Chopper 1. We've got two men on the roof, one of them is armed."

"I want that chopper to back off. Tell that pilot to get some altitude now." It's the officer who refused the folders. He turns to me as the helicopter disappears into the sky in front of us. "Does Kovac have a cell phone with him?"

I nod. "I tried to call him before but he didn't answer." I need information. I need answers. I need to understand what's happening. "What does he want?!" I cry. "I mean what does he want? If he wanted to kill Luka he could've shot him an hour ago!" I hate thinking this way but if I don't get these questions out of my head I think I'm going to explode.

The officer doesn't even really look at me, but his voice goes soft. "Maybe he wanted a bigger audience."

And all the hope I'd been grasping onto, feeding myself with and surviving on, abruptly disappears in the blink of an eye. I feel my body sink under the weight of the world, somehow finding the bed of a truck or something and I shake my head to try to clear my brain but I can't breathe. _Maybe he wanted a bigger audience._ This is the moment I lose it (because they always tell you in the hospital that as long as the person and their family has hope, you can get them back, but mine has just been deflated by this officer who is pretending to do his job): the moment my heart is stepped on and left oozing the life-sustaining blood of hope. _Luka,_ I weep. _Luka have hope enough for me._

They call Luka's cell phone and when his voicemail picks up I jump at the sound of his voice before I realize it's just a recording. There is no more room in my eyes for tears; they are pooling in my lungs, in my stomach, in my arms and legs and my hands and my feet. I have turned into an overflow basin just for tears, these tears that won't fall.

"Mr. Ames, Mr. Ames this is deputy superintendant John Valentine." I suddenly realize that someone has picked up on the cell phone this time, and now I know the man's name, whether I want to or not. I squeeze my hands together, look to the roof pretending that I can see them standing there. "We'd like to resolve this quickly and peacefully so first off, is there anything we can get you?"

_What?!_ I want to shout. Get him? I'll tell you what you can get him, you can get him a bullet to the frontal lobe or the brain stem or any other place that he can't recover from. You get him that, you get me my husband!

"Yeah," Ames says. He sounds upset, like he's been crying. His voice is breaking. Is this the sound of a violent man? "Can you just go away? Can you just leave me alone?" He's begging. Are beggars capable of killing?

"Just go! Just go over there! Go over there!" Even though I can't see him I can imagine him pointing the gun at my husband. Valentine pulls the phone away from his face. They're losing him. I know how these things work. You only get the results you want if you can talk to them. But Ames' has cut himself off. He's cut himself off from the police, from his wife, from his children, from his friends. He's only talking to Luka. But for how long?

"Curtis, we both have families," Luka starts and I am so scared that it's going to be the last of his voice I ever hear that I can't experience the happiness of knowing he's still alive to talk at all. "Children we love, a lot to live for." My eyes shift over and over. I'm trying to think, process what he's saying, hold onto it, find a way to resolve the mess about me. "This won't solve anything!"

"Mr. Ames," Valentine tries but the man responds to Luka first.

"The numbness happened twice, so it was TIA, right? Right?"

"Yes!" I shake my head, know where this is going and yet can't change anything about the outcome because I'm stuck down here!

Ames spurts out a series of noises that I'm unable to form into words but maybe Luka can because he talks next.

"I thought it was from sleeping on the gurney, we've been through all this!"

But Ames will not be placated. "Intermittent numbness is associated with TIA. You should've considered that. You should've thought about my arm."

"It was noisy, I explained that."

"That's because you listened with a steth! But the standard of care would've been a cardiac echo!"

Ames is right. The orders should've been for a cardiac echo. But doesn't he understand that we're still human? We're not perfect. There's too much need for all of us to handle. Doesn't he understand that the decisions we make each day will haunt us until we die? That Luka has agonized over this very fact for months? "It doesn't matter!" Luka screams, exasperated. Ames mimics him without hesitation.

"It does!" There's a crash. The phone clanking to the floor, I think, because the voices suddenly muffle. Not in their volume or intensity, just in the clearness. I have to hold my hand to my lips to silence myself so I can listen as the dispute continues. "It does! Because you would've seen the patent form in overlay," All these words that I live and breathe every day have been coming out of his mouth as if yanked from a chain and dragged to the surface; they just don't sound the same coming from him. It's as if he has poured over each and every detail of them in hopes of understanding and yet still can only manage to spit them out slowly. But his next words are sure. "And you would've PULLED THE CENTRAL LINE!"

"Yes! Okay? Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" The yes bubbles up from Luka's throat more like a howl of resigned desperation than an agreement. "You're right! You're right all along! I blew it! I missed it! I missed the murmur and I'm sorry for that!" A few seconds of silence pass, my heart jumps into my stomach.

Ames sounds like he is crying now too and his remarks are like accusations of negligence. "Why didn't you ever just _say_ that?"

"I'm saying it now, okay? Maybe I needed all this to, I, uh," He's doing what I did earlier. Stopping to formulate just what he's going to say, and yet coming up empty. Just resigning to let whatever comes happen as it will. "I'm not innocent. I'm, I'm just, look if I can take it all back, if I can fix it, but I can't, okay? I can't. I just can't. I can't."

He's in pain, I can hear it. All I want to do is hold him close to me. "Luka,"

"Mr. Ames?" It's Valentine, trying to interrupt. I'd almost forgotten there were more than two people in this little dance. There are at least three, with me on the outside, waiting. "Mr. Ames?"

But there's no response. Just heavy staggered breathing. "Curtis," Luka whispers, and I know it's a whisper even though I don't know how I could hear it through this radio if it was. There's a strange and uneasy silence in the immense racket of the street as we all – Luka, Ames, Valentine, the other officers, the bystanders, the S.W.A.T. team waiting for orders, myself – stand hopelessly entwined and yet each of us alone. Breathing fills the space between us, all the way to my husband, the space I would give anything to cross.

The click of a gun.

Two shots.

My eyes go wide, staring at the roof yet seeing nothing. My heart stops yet my body jerks in time to each bang. Time freezes and frantic voices rush over me in a shadow. The world is distorted, knocked off its axis so that I can't stay up.

"Who fired? There was no command to fire!"

"It came from the roof!"

Air returns to my lungs; adrenaline shoots through my veins like fire. I am not thinking, just reacting. Shrieking. Just running. Leaping to save my husband.

"Grab her!"

I'm striding around the edge of the car. And then there are arms in my way. Strong arms that not only stop me but slam me over, arms that have to catch me when I fall yet I am struggling against their help. "NO! NO! LET ME GO!" I'm screaming so loud my throat is instantly raw. I hit, kick, screech. The other voices ignore me.

"Go go go!" Valentine in the radio. The crashing of doors and the clonk of heavy footfalls. "All units I want status reports now!"

"Pulling back Charlie, we have a man down. We have a man down."

Man down, man down. "Luka." I breathe it, let it fill me and strengthen me, finally pull away in a burst of strength but I'm yanked again just as swiftly. "No, no, you have to let me go." I fight the man, push at his hands with mine, searching for contact to free myself. He looks so young; he doesn't understand! "I'm an ER doc; you have to let me go!" But I don't truly finish my last words because I've turned around and the S.W.A.T. team is charging down the front steps.

The arms let me go and I don't understand. I want to close my eyes in fear of seeing the fatal wounds but I can't bear to miss the truth. Then he's there, walking – walking! – down the stairs between the S.W.A.T. team and when he looks at me all the questions in my head stops.

Without knowing how, I end up in his arms, right where I belong. People always laugh about how short I am compared to Luka, but if only they knew just how perfectly we fit together. If only they knew what it was like to feel his heart beat beside mine, to have the rise and fall of his chest with every breath change to match in rhythm, to have hands pressed against my back holding me securely, to tuck my head into his shoulder, to link my arm around his neck.

The world is spinning but we are still. I keep my eyes open, reveling in this moment, breathing him in as if I have never wanted anything else in all my life and the truth is I haven't. We stay that way, interwoven, until there is no me and him, but instead one solid unbroken body of _us._

It is later – as the detectives question him – that I see his wounds, categorize them by severity in my head (broken hand, fractured nose, chipped tooth, cut lip and heavy cheek abrasion). Luka's alive. We've survived. I know the harm to his body will heal in time, but what about the damage to his soul?

I drive the car home, thoroughly surprised at how awake I am considering how draining this whole day has been. But still, something tickles the back of my mind. "Luka," I whisper, not wanting to ruin the peacefulness we've finally achieved. "There were two gunshots." The question is implied because I don't know how to ask it. He understands, doesn't miss it except he just gazes at me, so long I can't tell if there is an answer to the question I've since forgotten.

When we get home, Joe sleeps in our bed with us, between us, the perfect completion of our little family. It is then I realize something else. All night –without even noticing the lie that in my heart feels true – I have been saying _husband_.


End file.
